When Augustin had gone, she leaned back to where M. Lorman stood waiting behind her.

“Beg of your friend,” she said, “to be my chevalier and to protect me from the dreadful people while I look at the sea.”

Then at once, turning with a pleading glance towards Raoul, she added with comic earnestness: 

“Have mercy on me, Monsieur, I beseech you.”

M. Lorman looked uncomfortable.  There was an awkward pause.  Then Raoul stammered a fit reply and reddened, and, as he packed his violin away, he muttered angrily:  “Shall I never rid myself of this childish sensitiveness?  It is a shame to me that an accident has deformed me.”

As Mademoiselle came from her room she whispered wickedly to M. Lorman: 

“You may prepare your forfeit.”

But he shook his head and laughed.

“No, no,” he said.  “Not yet; there is time enough.”

* * * * *

Along the sea front the folk stared covertly at the new actress, as she chatted volubly of the doings of the morning.

“Bah! they act badly—­very badly,” she said.  “They should work harder—­they are too lazy.  Work—­work—­work—­that is the only cure for them.  But to-morrow they will do better, and we shall have a success.”

Then she became more serious and talked of her own experience, and of the long hours that she had spent in study.  “Often I used to be so tired,” she said, “that I could not even sleep.”

To his great astonishment Raoul found himself at his ease with her as he discussed the necessity of steady labour and the uselessness of sitting down and waiting for inspiration.  In the heat of the argument they reached the Rue Louise.  The violin was handed in, and they turned back again towards the sea.  Madame held the door ajar to watch them.

Afterwards they strolled up through the town to the Place St. Amand.  Then, because he must be tired, Mademoiselle insisted that he should stay and rest awhile, and they sat by the window like very old friends.  Finally, she permitted him to depart, in order, she said, that he might get to sleep early and be strong for the morrow.

As she moved here and there in her room, she laughed quite quietly to herself, and wondered what M. Lorman had meant when he had said that she would not understand his friend.

IV.

Gerome Perrin, the collector, of Rouen, whose reputation as a connoisseur in the matter of violins has never been questioned, once offered Raoul for his violin six thousand francs.  The mere record of this offer will explain why the hunchback always carried the instrument to and from the theatre.  He held that he could only be quite sure of its safety so long as it remained in his keeping.  It was generally agreed that the famous violin was heard at its best on the night that Mademoiselle Elise made her appearance at the Theatre Royal, Rocheville, as Lisette, in “Le vrai Amant.”